Wraith Company
by Marcus the Iron Raven
Summary: Major Jackary Anderson must lead Wraith Company through gruelling conditions and against an unrelenting foe in order to save a doomed group of conscripts and the precious Basilisk they escort.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes:  
This story has been sitting on my laptop for quite awhile now, but it's 1 am and I decided 'why not?'  
As per usual, I do not own the rights to Warhammer 40,000 or any of its affiliates. All belong to their original creators and our overlords, Games Workshop. Quisto'Rol is indeed a planet in the 40k universe, however since no information was available on the planet or its topography I had made my own up, as well as several other factors in the story. Enjoy, and any feedback would be appreciated. Any questions will most likely answered in a Youtube video that I shall link on my profile page as soon as I complete it.

* * *

The jungles of Quisto'Rol were a deathtrap to all but the most veteran predator, whether it is man or beast. Packs of wild animals hunted during the day and the night, picking off the weakest and most vulnerable of targets. Many an Imperial patrol was sent into the jungles, attempting to control the No-Man's-Land between the Imperial front and the Eldar Webway Gate that stood deep within the canopied jungle; the dirty-white wraithbone structure that would rapidly transport Eldar warriors to the planet's surface. It was a good day for a patrol if it came back to the Imperial Guard's forward camp with at least two of its twenty members, but it was an even better day for the Imperial Guard if the patrol came back at all. The Eldar had made no demands and gave no terms of surrender to the human forces stationed on Quisto'Rol; instead they had conducted numerous hit-and-run attacks each week¸ causing frighteningly high casualties on each occasion while the Guard were lucky to even cause a tiny margin of that number back to the Eldar.

The war on Quisto'Rol had been raging for almost a year now, even since poachers from the city of Taluun had stumbled across the seemingly-inactive gate. Scratched and heavily bleeding after their encounter with several of the native animals, the hunters had watched the structure from the cover of nearby bushes before trekking back across through the jungle. Signaling the nearest Imperial Guard outpost with their military-grade vox-caster, the group of hunters transmitted the coordinates of the Webway Gate as well as their own position before their transmission was cut. The local Imperial Governor gave orders that a recon party be sent out to appraise the situation, and a group of twenty Imperial Sentinel walkers were sent into the jungle.

The Sentinels easily traversed the jungle, crossing several hundred miles; their long mechanical legs easily keeping any predator at bay as the machines rumbled through the undergrowth. They sent frequent updates of their position back to the outpost, as well as requesting updates of the hunter's positions, which always came back with the same answer: no new information. The Guard had already figured the hunters to be dead; mauled by the savage beasts of Quisto'Rol and providing their dinner, but what the Sentinels found was far from what they had expected. Crossing underneath the shadowy canopies that towered far overhead, the Sentinels stomped their way through the small bushes and plants; crushing both plant- and animal-life underfoot before reaching the still bodies of the hunters.

Major Jackary Anderson of the Quisto'Rollian 2nd Regiment's Light Company still could remember very clearly even one year later the gut-wrenching expressions on the hunter's faces as he jumped down from his Sentinel to examine the bodies in the evening light. He was a raw lieutenant then, having just completed his officer training and looking forward to his first slice of action. Their faces contorted from fear, the hunters all had received the same blow that killed them; a clean slice to the throat. They were all arrayed in a single line; their clothes untouched and the rifles on their backs slung, and the creepiness of this new discovery rattled all the Sentinels to the core. The scouts had reported their find then continued on, zeroing in on the location of the Webway Gate. Anderson remembered even more vividly the first contact with the opposition. Nestled in a valley exactly where the hunter's transmission said it would be was the Eldar Webway Gate; the rising wraithbone curves sculpted with perfect precision, its ridges and crests making the gate look similar to the stinger of a Quisto'Rollian Water Scorpion. The small squad of Sentinels spread out, their Multi-Laser weapon systems hot and their adrenaline pumping, each trooper both hoping and dreading contact with the Eldar. They weren't disappointed.

Lieutenant Anderson watched in horror as a shadow disengaged itself from the trees and sprinted out quickly towards a Sentinel, moving far faster then any human could run. Anderson shouted out over the vox channel, but he was too late, the runner had attached and detonated some sort of explosive, sending an electro-magnetic pulse into the core systems of the walker, shortening it out. The men became jumpy, their discipline fading as they ached to just blast laser fire everywhere. Immediately several other shadows came from the trees, swinging down and sprinting at the remaining nineteen walkers. Without waiting for orders, the men engaged the enemy; a myriad of laser fire closed in on the approaching enemy saboteurs, but the enemy was one step ahead. Laser fire illuminated their white and blue armored forms as the saboteurs leapt into the air, their artificial wings unfurling then blurring into action, vibrating fast enough to meld the colors.

This was the first time the Quisto'Rollian forces had encountered Eldar in almost fifty years, and naturally none of the Guardsmen sent on the reconnaissance mission knew what they would face; if they had then they would have never stood their ground in such a small clearing. The Swooping Hawks flew down over the Sentinels, dropping their payloads then flying away. Almost ten Sentinels were knocked out, their pilots jumping down from their disabled walkers toting their lasguns. A pair of Eldar was punctured by laser fire, spiraling to the ground in fiery heaps, and the Imperial forces felt exhilarated; none of their own number had even been injured. The remaining Hawks swooped down and out, sprinting in the cover of jungle that lay behind the remaining Sentinels.

"7th Sentinel Platoon, status report!" Barked Anderson over the vox channel. Only nine Sentinels hailed his request, leaving only ten Sentinels in operation, including his own. The rest of the men had shouldered their emergency packs which they had salvaged formed a squad on foot, looking only slightly-nervous, but overall pleased by their small victory. On the trek back to base Anderson has lost another four Sentinels, as well as eight of the foot-soldiers to the blades of the Swooping Hawks, leaving only six functioning Sentinel walkers and twelve men to report in.

The situation had quickly escalated after the first skirmish; a battalion sent to secure the Webway Gate was ambushed and annihilated by an Eldar strike force, while a team of Eldar Dire Avengers were captured by the newly-reinforced 7th Sentinel Platoon only a few weeks after first contact. The two sides exchanged fire often in the jungle, conducting raids and sneak attacks. Men were forced to become veterans after a single night in the jungle; their experience quickly setting them apart from troopers who may have only enlisted a single day before them. Trees burned, animals fled while predators stalked the battlefield afterwards, taking its pick of the dead human carcasses. Not a single Eldar dead was ever recovered by the Imperial Guard; their bodies taken way by their comrades quickly.

The Imperial Governor, he himself a veteran officer in the Imperial Navy, looked to his own experience when dealing with the Eldar in the past to work out a strategy. Eldar were renowned for their lightning-fast maneuvers and strikes into enemy territory before withdrawing, and the governor theorized that the Eldar would melt quickly in the face of a foe with vastly superior numbers, after all, the Eldar always avoided a straight-up firefight if they could, they simply did not have the numbers to keep up.

A month into the conflict, the Imperial Guard could no longer get anywhere near the Gateway. Entire regiments were caught in a hailstorm of shuriken and laser fire, infantry running for cover while the light vehicles used in the jungle were disabled or destroyed. Swooping Hawks and Striking Scorpion warriors infiltrated the Guard's retreat corridors, cutting down survivors in their hundreds.

Brigadier-General Basque Veres led an all-out assault on the Webway Gate, massing thousands of troops as well as dozens of Chimeras, Sentinels and a handful of Leman Russ tanks and Basilisk Howitzers. Valkyrie transports and Vulture gunships flew overhead as the strike force rallied together at Outpost Zal-Omega, forming lines of guardsmen armed with lasguns, grenade launchers and plasma rifles. Entire companies of snipers and scouts were formed and sent ahead to perform a reconnaissance of the undergrowth; the scanners of the air-support unable to penetrate the dense jungle canopy. The Brigadier-General had smiled that day, his remaining eye communicating his relief at finally being able to destroy this threat to Quisto'Rol, and by the end of the day his now life-less eye was staring up at the tree branches above while men screamed and tanks grinded to a halt, their treads turned to slag and hulls demolished.

Two months into the conflict all the shipyards planet-side were sabotaged, grounding the planet's fleet. No longer could the Imperial Guard perform any sort of aerial-support missions; they could only rely on their ground forces from then on.

Five months into the conflict a call for aid was sent to the neighboring systems of Esteban and Valhalla, of which only the Valhallans promised a relief force within a few months. The relief force never came. Quisto'Rol was alone, its garrisoned force of almost twenty-thousand armed conscripts already whittled down to half the original number.

* * *

Jackary Anderson mussed his now-long hair, and sighed. He was the only survivor from the original party that had found the alien nemesis in the jungle the year before and had been promoted to the rank of Major quickly, filling up the power vacuum left by so many deceased officers. He wore the tattered remains of a Captain's uniform, for no new uniforms or equipment had been issued to his company in over four months, and the only indication of his true rank was a badge on his green cap and the scimitar he kept. His men were a mass of scarred and wounded men, the majority of them forsaking most of their carapace armor and donning flak jackets instead. Anderson's men were storm troopers, or at least the closest one could get to the elite commandos of the Imperial Guard. While not true storm troopers, Anderson's company had been filled with the best of the best, the cream of the crop. The most veteran and experienced soldiers were transferred into the Wraith Company, given carapace armor and Hellguns as well as being issued with the occasional heavy or special weapon. From the original Wraith Company, barely over a hundred survived, most of their armor having been cast off and weapons gathered from the dead and dying.

Anderson himself had cast aside his Hellpistol and taken up a Stalker-Pattern Hellgun; he felt far safer with the big weapon in his hands, and had adopted some pieces of the carapace armor, armoring his shins, forearms and chest as well as keeping an additional combat knife strapped to his leg. He had 'borrowed' a camo cloak from a dead sniper, and kept his Auspex always close at hand. Being sent to battle Eldar was bad enough in Anderson's opinion, but being stationed at the outpost closest to the front-lines was even worse. The Wraith Company had to adapt, as they learnt on their first nights stationed at the dilapidated outpost.

"You live constantly live on the edge here at Outpost Zal-Omega," Anderson spoke loudly to the new additions to the Wraith Company. Due to the nature of this war, this was a speech he was making every few weeks now. "Our enemy is situated only twenty miles away from us, within a single day's walk. You poke your heads outside without a helmet and you are likely to lose them. Your heads, not your helmets. Private Giller over there decided to take a piss late one night while on sentry detail, greet the new recruits Giller!"

Private Giller turned from cleaning his gun, revealing the mechanical block of circuitry that replaced his neck and mouth.

"Giller here lost quite a bit of his head, but now he's a good boy, aren't you Giller? Giller here can still fight, and I'll expect no less from any of you. You all know why you're here; to purge the Eldar from our planet, and now you've all been given better armor and Hellguns. Do yourselves a favor; drop the bulkier parts of the armor. We're the Wraith Company, and our duty is to raid, infiltrate and skirmish with the enemy, something that is impossible when you're being weighed down by the shit that gets assigned to us. Keep your Hellgun charged, your dick in your pants and plenty of fragmentation grenades in your arse, dismissed!"

Anderson knew that from the thirty new additions to the company, barely five would survive their first action. The Wraith Company was designed to fulfill a role somewhere between scouts and commandos; to be the first in the field and the last out, taking part in situations that would leave a regular guardsman crying for his mother. The Wraiths would be the rearguard and the vanguard; they could hide in the trees for days before dropping onto a mobilized Eldar strike team. They were expected to give their dying breath for the Emperor and to never retreat, and Anderson's boys always delivered.

Sliding into his personal Sentinel, Anderson barked a quick set of orders to his lieutenants. Immediately Wraith Company became a flurry of action; dozens of marines jumped into their Sentinel walkers while the rest of the boys formed firing squads, forming up on their sergeants.

Their mission this day was a simple one: to find the remnants of Echo Company, a platoon of conscripts accompanying a Basilisk self-propelled artillery vehicle, which had been sent to reinforce Zal-Omega. Somewhere between Zal-Omega and the Conscript Barracks, the company had gotten lost. No one had any illusion of the men being found alive; that was impossible, not improbable. Instead, they hoped to recover the Basilisk or even scavenge the massive Earthshaker Cannon attached to it.

All around him, Jackary Anderson watched as steely-faced storm troopers prepared for their inevitable fate. Each had made their peace with Death, promising themselves to greet it as old friends rather then screaming children calling for their mothers. The new recruits gulped as the veterans showed them exactly what pieces of their carapace armor they should throw away while some of the older men smoked in a group, reminiscing about times before the war. Anderson had no time for such things; war was his life now, he had no other purpose then to advance the Emperor's Cause, one dead xenos at a time.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Anderson motioned to his lieutenants it was time; Wraith Company was heading out.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Chapter Two will be out as soon as I have time.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:  
Did you think I'd forgotten about this fanfic? Hell no, just had a lot of work to do. I'll try and complete the third chapter as soon as possible. Enjoy.

* * *

The smell of tobacco and sweat filled out the small room as the score of officers and planetary officials attempted to squeeze inside. Being the only bunker not damaged by the enemy's sneak attacks and pin-point strikes, it would have to make do as the War Room for Governor Petro Poete. He snorted upon smelling the foul mixes of various stenches in the air, but made no complaint. The governor was once an officer of the Imperial Guard and before that a mere grunt. Even now he wore the carapace torso of his old Storm Trooper armour, his years of working out and keeping fit even while in office now working in his advantage. His career had lasted almost forty years, a respectable length that was proudly talked about by the people who served him, usually in tandem while complimenting him on his various battle-scars and war wounds.

When the rest of the officers finally gathered inside the War Room, the governor stood and stared at each man in the room, etching their appearance into his memory. Many of them were new faces having replaced those men who had died in the war against the Eldar and who were likely to die before the governor could learn their names. Each of these men saw the governor' s grimace as he surveyed the room, each of them understanding what it meant. A member of the Adeptus Astartes Chapter known as the Black Templars walked last into the room, his sheer bulk and height filling out an entire corner of the crowded chamber.

"Sergeant Faiqus, I am pleased you could join us. How goes the testing of the young men from the western plains?" Poete grunted, pulling up a screen of quickly-flashing data on his datapad. For almost a standard Terran year the Space Marine had been stationed on the planet, thoroughly combing the planet for anyone strong enough to have the honour of being inducted into the Chapter. Being a planet with a gravity field slightly higher then Terra's, the population tended to be tougher and more physically powerful then regular human stock. Even though they were tougher then the average human, from the millions of people put through the insanely dangerous proving arenas, it was likely only a handful would be accepted and brought into the Chapter.

"Dorn's praise be upon you, Lord Poete. I have found two such hardy men who I shall be honoured to train as Astartes but otherwise the rest are either dead or useless to me." Faiqus' voice was inhumanely deep, a low rumble of thunder against the shrill human squeals.  
"Excellent, your brethren would not risk these recruits falling to the blades of the xenos, would they? When does the Crusade Fleet reach us?"

"Captain Brand sends his regards; the fleet is currently engaged the pirates coming out of the Maelstrom. They won't be arriving until my mission is complete."

"No!" General Ulren slammed a fist onto the table. A tall, thickly-set man with a quivering moustache, Ulren had only become General due to his predecessor's death at the front-lines. Completely unsuited to the job as he was, no one was willing to take his place. "We can't face these creatures without back-up! We've had far too many casualties; this war of attrition will end us all!"  
"Don't be so foolish, Ulren," admonished the governor. "Eldar do not wage war as we do. They raid, strike and conduct hit-and-run attacks. It is the Gate that causes them to fight us; their species relies on these gates and the ancient technology that binds them together."

"So we destroy the Gate then? That'll win us the war?" One of the junior officers sitting opposite the governor asked meekly, the young man looking barely old enough to shave. A few of his fellows nodded their heads, agreeing with him.

"No, we need to rout their forces first and only then destroy the Gate. If we do not do this in the right order, it will potentially leave many Eldar stranded on the planet. They will scatter and hunt us like wolves in our own forests."

"We must purge them," Faiqus stated simply. "They are xenos and cannot be allowed to live. We should leave them all dead and their Gate in ruins."

Governor Poete had experienced the nature of the Astartes once before meeting Faiqus. Back in his soldiering days, he had fought an Ork invasion of Valhalla. The green-skins had come in force, leaded by the mighty Warboss Snogrut. War gutted large sections of the planet, reducing many cities to rubble and flame but still the defenders fought, each day taking one more step backwards. The Blood Angels Chapter had sent a detachment of one-hundred Astartes to pacify the Ork threat and they had succeeded spectacularly. The Astartes had annihilated the Orks for being xenos and a threat to the Imperium but at least they did not let their hatred cloud their mind and restrict their tactical ability, like the Templar did.

"Sergeant, we cannot spare the men do destroy so many of the Eldar! We barely have enough to repel them and you talk of a direct assault? I am in charge of this planet and I owe a protection to the people of Quisto'Rol; I will not squander our resources on such a plan."

Faiqus didn't say anything, staring at the governor through his helmet's green lens. Patting the sword at his side, the Templar beat his fist against his chest. "Then I swear to you, in the name of Dorn and his father the Emperor I shall eradicate this threat myself! I shall requisition no men nor armour, only asking my own Chapter's prospects whether they will fight alongside me."

His pledge made, Sergeant Faiqus left the War Room to ready himself. Only once his giant frame had ducked and exited through the door did General Ulren let out an audible sigh and turned his sad gaze onto the governor. "So what now what do we do?"

"You sound like you've got no idea, Ulren. Several key objectives must be fulfilled in order for this war to end and several of these are now in progress. A Basilisk was on its way to Zal-Omega, where it was to be led to the hill at reference point HY-Forty-Seven." Poete keyed a few buttons on the wall behind him. Part of the wall dropped down, revealing a large data-screen with a map that detailed the surroundings of the Gate. "As we've learnt, the Gate's systems corrupt our long-range targeting so our efforts to bombard it have always failed but we're hoping that a direct line-of-sight will enable the Basilisk's crew to fire accurately enough. The Second Regiment's Light Division were supposed to be the ones to escort the Basilisk to its destination but the Basilisk was lost somewhere in the forest. Major Anderson and his men went out in search of it at oh-eight-hundred hours. This Basilisk is our key; it will destroy the Gate when the time is right.  
Secondly, as I said earlier the xenos must be routed through the Gate. I was originally going to call this meeting so that we may plan exactly how we would do this but Sergeant Faiqus has already solved this problem for us. He will launch his attack straight at the enemy's heart, providing enough of a distraction for us to move our men closer to the Gate. An Armoured Company accompanied by as many sentinels as we can must should move to support the Templar once battle has commenced and not a second earlier. The Eldar lying in ambush points should all be recalled back to defend the Gate, leaving the forest safe for our forces to move through.  
Lastly, measures must be taken to ensure that the Eldar will all be routed or destroyed and not scattered in the forests. Once the Gate is destroyed our orbital platforms will be able to fire again, so we must ready them to fire on the forest when the time is right. We will level the mountains and burn the forest and that will be the end."  
The junior officers looked to one another, worry in their eyes. One of them stood up, saluting the governor smartly. "My lord, what of the Armoured Company, the Second's Light Division and Lord Faiqus? They will all be caught within the explosion if we fire at the moment of victory."

Lord-Commissar Felus stood up from the table and walked around each of the officers, his intimidating stalk immediately laying a shroud of silence upon the junior officers. Quiet until this point of the discussion, the Lord-Commissar was the governor's most trusted advisor. Older then Poete himself, Felus had seen untold horrors stretched across a hundred battlefields, losing a piece of his humanity in each war. More machine then man, the Lord-Commissar boasted a wide array of bionic implants and mechanical prosthetics. It was his mechanical hand that now gripped the shoulder of the junior officer that spoke out.

"Boy, what's your name?" The Lord-Commissar spoke slowly but not because of any intention to; his throat had been sliced open by a Necron's warscythe years before and had left his voice slow and rasping.

"Malcax, sir. Captain Malcax Benjahman."

"Malcax. It's a good name. Named after one of Quisto'Rol's most beloved leaders, you must be proud to have such a honourable name." The Lord-Commissar offered his mechanical hand in the old Terran-style, which Captain Benjahman stood up and shook awkwardly. "Now, Malcax, you respect your superiors, don't you?"  
Benjahman nodded dumbly, completely in awe of the war hero standing before him. "Of course I do sir, utmost respect."  
"Good. Sit down and don't make me execute you for heresy, only the brave may be named after Lord Malcax the Absolute. The Emperor protects and Lord Poete is the voice of the Emperor, so do not question him. The men and women who engage the enemy would gladly sacrifice their lives for their friends and family, so all we are doing is allowing them to do so."

Benjahman's mouth gaped for a moment but he shook his head, refusing to be cowed. "Sir, can't we just destroy the Gate with the Basilisk then destroy them with orbital bombardment? We wouldn't have to worry about any survivors if we proceed that way."

The Lord-Commissar glared at the young captain with his single remaining eye and tapped the barrel of his gun with his hand. Poete shook his head, standing up and gesturing his old friend back to his seat before turning to Captain Benjahman. "Impossible. That Basilisk has one of the last Earthshaker cannons on the entire planet and we cannot afford to lose it; the ground assault will distract the enemy so they cannot strike at the Basilisk the moment it enters the fray. You need to understand the significance of this one cannon, son. Normally it would be absolutely absurd to rely on something as simple as a single Basilisk but the enemy won't be able to fire it's payload out of the sky as they have with our orbital strikes. If there are no other complaints then this meeting is adjourned; my aide, Sergeant Vaycourt will brief you all on your individual assignments. Gentlemen."

Governor Poete walked up the stairs to the surface floor, his ochre cape collecting dust off the walls behind him while Lord-Commissar Felus followed. Pushing open the door to the administration building that they had occupied once the original HQ had been struck by Warp Spiders, Poete ran a hand through the little hair that remained on his head.

"The Emperor knows what the Black Templars are going to do once they find out we allowed Faiqus to become a distraction and a sacrifice."  
The pair stood at a window that looked across the courtyard of the tower. Faiqus had not yet left and was loading his personal Rhino APC with supplies before heading out to the Cathedral of the Champion just outside the city of Taluun. The Cathedral was one of the world's oldest at close to three-thousand years old and had immediately caught the attention of Faiqus who then requisitioned it as a training base.

"We didn't 'allow' him, Petro. He is of a stubborn, ferocious stock of Astartes. As long as he dies an honourable death then the Chapter will be pleased. He will do his duty by his primarch and the Emperor; what more can an Astartes ask for? No, I am far more interested in Anderson and his mission. What was that you said of the Basilisk? That it would be so absurd to rely on something so simple? We're to do so twice it seems; a Basilisk and a single company of guardsmen are to herald peace to our planet. Does Anderson know?"

"Perhaps. I did not tell him the full plan over vox, who knows if the Eldar are listening in. He knows his orders and the importance of the Basilisk but that is all. He's a smart man so he may have figured out about the orbital strike but then again, what's he going to do about it? He knows that if he doesn't get that Basilisk up there then we'll end up taking unacceptable losses so he'll do his job."

"Is there a Commissar attached to the company?"

The old governor turned to his friend. The Commissar-General's face was as grim as ever, but there was a strange look in his eyes. "You can't be serious, Felus! I'm not going to let you go out there just to die, I need your aid; the men look up to you, they want to please you! You're indispensable; they call you 'the Indestructible."

Felus clasped Petro's wrist with his own. "It''s been a good run, my friend. Once this war is over you'll have new heroes; men and women young enough to serve you for decades to come. I am old and no matter how many bionics I use or serums I have prescribed I can still feel every one of my one-hundred-and-forty years. It is time for this old body to die, but at least I can do my duty this one last time. I'll find Anderson and his boys and make sure they do their duty. May the Emperor watch over you, old friend."

"And may He protect and preserve you, Lord-Commissar Anton Felus."

* * *

"Sarge, why do they call them Hellguns?"

"Shut the hell up and watch your points, boy."

"But Sarge, it's a good one."

Sergeant Kellok butted the younger man in the side with the end of his rifle, knocking him away. The rest of the men tittered, knowing full well that the sergeant had been monitoring their immediate surroundings using his auspex scanner so they had nothing to fear. Regardless of who they were and what company and regiment they belonged to, no Imperial Guardsman would ever want to be out in the forest while there were Eldar present in that same forest. They'd been marching for close to two hours now into the forest, hunting for the remains of Echo Company and the lost Basilisk artillery battery with it's Earthshaker Canon and after clearing away large nests of stingerbees and a pack of felhounds, the men were getting restless. They were becoming more talkative and while the sergeant didn't mind if the men's footsteps were silent or not, he did mind if they talked their mouths off. The Major's sentinels were barely a minute away, stomping through the forest ahead of them; clearing away large logs in their path and cutting away at the shrubbery to speed their progress and Anderson would not appreciate some smart-arse in the company betraying their position away so stupidly.

It was almost dusk and the men were jumping at every shadow; a conditioned response after one has been fighting the treacherous Eldar for so long. Kellok knew they wouldn't stop for the night as the men would be too relaxed so instead they would press on, facing the Eldar with their light-enhancer goggles on.  
"_Auspex scans have located something, Major_," the mechanical voice of Private Giller broadcast through the vox headset that Kellok wore. "_Looks like the xenos but they keep flashing out._"  
"Keep track of the blips, they could be them. Has your sentinel been serviced lately, Giller?" Anderson barked back. The Major was at the front of the formation, very typical of him. Any other officer would have gone on foot or deployed in a Chimera armoured carrier with their aids and medic but Anderson wasn't any other officer. He ploughed on ahead in his own sentinel, fighting away the xenos with his own heavy bolter; each shot blowing away a warrior in a storm of blood and rage. From amongst the entire company, the Major was the one with the highest kill count so far; both his hellgun and sentinel covered with skull markings.

"_Affirmative sir, just got the auspex and targeting array fixed up yesterday._"

"I was kidding, Giller. I swear that xenos took out some of your brain matter with that shot. Shut up and keep driving. Lohan, Darik and Erik, you all still with us?"

"Still kicking, sir," came Corporal Lohan's reply.  
"The Emperor be praised," Darik's answer was as unenthusiastic as one can sound.  
"Standing by," signalled Erik.  
"Lohan, Giller, mark the blips and see if you can flank them. They're probably just some Blinkers trying to get the drop on us so just go and 'discourage' them."

Kellok signalled to the men to adjust their light-enhancers as the sentinels of the eastern flank began to turn away from the rest of the formation. They would be temporarily vulnerable to attack while they were gone but all it meant was that Kellok's men would have adapt. That was the nature of Wraith Company, the reason for their continued existence; unlike the rest of the army which was being overrun and overwhelmed constantly, Anderson's men would adapt and combat the Eldar using their own methods. Of course they were losing men to this war of attrition but at least they were making a difference with each loss they took.

"Sir, I think that skirmish we had with that Wave Serpent left my goggles screwed up," complained the lanky Simsan, knocking his light-enhancers against his hellgun's stock.

"Simsan, trade places with Raure. Raure, move on up front," Kellok ordered, scanning the trees at the eastern flank while his men made the swap.

"_Blips stationary, approaching targets. Engage?"_

An explosion propelling a jet of fire twenty feet into the air interrupted whatever reply Anderson was going to give. The sounds of screeching metal accompanied it, the mechanical screams ripping through the short-range vox transmissions. A secondary explosion rocked the ground beneath the soldier's feet causing more then one of them to lose their balance and tumble to the ground but Kellok stayed upright. After a millisecond of indecision the soldier's conditioning kicked in; Kellok gestured to Yehannik and Derec who popped a krak grenade into their launchers. The other men fanned out, not giving their attackers an opportunity to surround them. That had been the mistake of too many officers in the past; ordering their men to form into a circle or line where they would be conveniently outflanked and promptly defeated.

"_Lohan is bzzzzzzt down. Back-up requ-bzzzzzt." _Giller droned into Kellok's ears, immediately accompanied by a multitude of others.

"Lohan's gone and Giller's sentinel is damaged, multiple contacts!" Leary reported from his sentinel, the closest to the contact area. The sound of his multi-laser discharging in rapid succession amplified the noise of the skirmish in Kellok's ears. "Blinkers took out Lohan with a charge and hopped but we've got at least five, six contacts firing at us. Shuriken fire isn't denting the armour but my servos are exposed."

Kellok flipped the safety off on his pistol and revved his chainsword; the whirring teeth capable of fully punching through a man with ease leaving nothing but blood and pieces strewn everywhere. This chainsword had seen the inside of countless bellies and chopped off the limbs of a score of men and xenos alike, an heirloom that was passed down from father to son. Kellok had no child yet to the pass the eviscerating blade onto so he gripped the chainsword, letting all the rage and frustration that this xenos threat brought him seethe in the very metal itself. He would cut down as many of the Eldar as he had to in order to go back to his gutted home and father a son.

He caught his first glimpse of the enemy as he rushed through the brush, the smell of burning metal searing his nostrils and lungs. A sentinel lay in a twisted heap of slag in a small clearing, circuits exposed and sparking in the black smoke that hung about the wreckage. Giller's sentinel stood nearby, cycling its multi-laser and sending lances of red light at the smallest shadow; puncturing tree trunks and setting shrubbery alight. One of the Eldar had been caught by the lasfire and was lying dead by the hole-ridden trunk of one tree opposite Kellok; white and blue armour had been blown off in chunks, an orange ridge of straightened hair graced his helmet.

"We've got ridge-heads," reported Kellok into his headset even as one of the Avengers shot at him from an absurdly-close position. Immediately Giller's sentinel fired into the bush where the shot came from, revealing the smoking body of an Eldar.

Feeling his hellgun begin to vibrate in his hands, Kellok chanted a short litany to the Machine-Spirit within the gun as he pulled the trigger, sending a powerful red laser into the trees opposite. The rifle kicked into his shoulder but the stock stopped it from breaking the bones. It was an old friend of Kellok's, the one he could trust on in his times of need the most. Shuriken fire erupted in response as the Eldar popped out of hiding for a split-second, allowing Kellok to memorise their positions before diving behind the nearest tree. Several of the men under his command had joined him, charging their hellguns while waiting for the cascade of \shuriken fire to die down. Not particularly powerful when compared to a Space Marine's Bolter or the penetrating beam of a hellgun, the Eldar weapons still packed a decent punch and could easily take a man out of commission even from a stray hit.

Derec peeked his grenade launcher out of cover and angled it high. One of the Eldar's shuriken's cut into the barrel, jarring the weapon in his hands but Derec merely grimaced and waited. Kellok's ears were filled with the noise of the Eldar's weapons discharging and the rest of the company's loud but organised orders and responses to one another. The moment the hail of fire slowed down Kellok's men peered from out of cover, gloved fingers pressing firmly on well-used weapons. As one the storm of lasfire blew into the Eldar's side of the clearing, the concentrated fire setting the very trees alight as they punched through wood, armour then the flesh of those behind the trees. Derec's frag grenade blew from the Eldar's position, showering shrapnel and blood across a small radius. Kellok swung out an arm, ordering the men to hold their fire.

Only the sound of flames crackling could be heard against the panting rhythm from the men. Every skirmish with the Eldar sent the blood pumping and the men's senses would be heightened by the effects of adrenaline for a while longer. Kellok was the first to take a step out of cover, peering curiously at the remains of the Eldar. A total of five Eldar lay dead by their hands; armour smoking from where the hellguns caught them, the flesh underneath still sizzling. It was the smell of victory to Kellok. Turning to his cheering men, he was horrified to hear a new noise; the cacaphony of meltaguns all firing. Giller's sentinel almost fell to the floor as he hurried to move the damaged walker, a melta beam would surely mean the end of him. Fire Dragons had closed in on them, using typical Eldar trickery. Kellok snorted, listening to the orders pouring through the vox while his men twirled around, listening to the fire coming from Wraith Company's formation.

They'd been fooled into breaking the wedge; chasing a small force of Eldar spread out as far as Wraith Company's formation was long. The entire left flank of the formation had disintegrated, allowing a larger Eldar force of Fire Dragons and Striking Scorpions to attack the sentinels on the right flank and the rearguard. Unsupported by infantry, four sentinels had been melted to slag by the fierce meltaguns of the Fire Dragons while the cloaked Scorpions had hid in the trees high above the formation, dropping down and disembowelling the rearguard, cutting off any hope of escape.

"Malfur, get your men over to my position, quick now man! Kellok, form your men in a circle around Giller. He's damaged but his sentinel is the only one equipped with a missile pod," Anderson ordered over the comms, the sound of lasfire in the background. "Erik, get yourself over to the rear with Darik and take out those Scorpions!"

"Can't sir, Darik's gone. Dragon got-" Darik's reply was cut short, the vox buzzing furiously at the lost signal.

"Well, boys, we've got quite the battle on our hands now! Get into position around Giller over there!" Kellok pointed over at Giller's sentinel that was now lying in wait in the centre of the bloody remnants of the Avengers. "We know how these tricky buggers think, we've fought them for a year now and it's time we pay them back!"


End file.
